


The Elf From Mayena

by Superblobby



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen, Inspired by The Witcher, Kovir and Poviss, Nilfgaard, No Romance, No Sex, No Smut, Pre-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Scoia'tael (The Witcher), Spy - Freeform, Temeria (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superblobby/pseuds/Superblobby
Summary: An Elf living in Temeria has his loyalty put to the test as he serves his country in...unorthodox ways.This tale delves into the nonhuman racism. From human pogroms to Elven terrorism, I hope to cover the intricacies of the Witcher universe from the PoV of an elf that isn't a Scoia'tael Commando. Rather, an elf that fights on the human side. I sincerely hope you enjoy it, and please leave Kudos and bookmark if you like it!
Kudos: 7





	1. Gather Around the Fire

Marcel felt a tug on his fishing line. He snapped out of his stupor once it became clear this wasn’t another worm stealing fish. This one was surprisingly stuck to the hook. The newly invigorated man reeled with all his might, struggling against the weight of this fish. He slightly rose from his chair to pull this bugger above the waves. The Elf tugged one last time and an oily flopping bass surfaced. The fisherman let out a deep sigh, catching his breath after the unexpected struggle he endured. Deftly removing the fish, he chucked it in the bucket beside him. 

As if the Ocean herself was signaling for the fellow to take his bounty and leave. Foam spattered his face, its salty mist soaking up the scent around him. The sunset sprawled out before him was a sight to see. He would rather see it from the warmth of his own home. Pont Vanis has two seasons, August and Winter, and it is October. Marcel’s trek to his seaside home took no less than a minute. His wife smiled upon seeing him.

“Have a good day fishing, Marcel?”

He kissed his wife on the head.

“Better than ever Hilda, the sunset is beautiful for an October day, and look at all the fish I caught today. Wanna continue this inside? Colder than a mug of Mahakaman Ale out here.”

Hilda nodded and opened the door. Marcel followed soon behind. Inside their house, the hearth flared with heat. In front of it sat their two grandchildren, Alfie and Thor. Alfie was the quiet one, always tucked behind a book. Meanwhile, Thor was all too excited to help Marcel gut the fish. Then help Grandma Hilda cook them. The trio eagerly got to work, while Alfie remained engrossed in his book. 

Fifteen minutes passed, and Alfie was still riveted by the book he was reading. The boy, with only Seventeen winters behind him, snuck a look at his Grandpa before shutting the book. Marcel smiled, Alfie smiled back. He truly was the apple of his eye. Shiny blonde hair that Marcel once had, shimmering Green eyes, those pointy ears. Marcel was so lost in thought listing his similarities that he didn’t notice Alfie tapping his shoulder.

“Gramps, are you there?”

Marcel nodded.

“Yes, sorry, I just get lost in thought sometimes. What were you reading back there? You were really into it.”

Alfie sat back in his seat, handing the book to Marcel.

“Ah, Annales seu Cronicae Incliti Regni Temeriae, by Jarre of Ellander. I met him at a banquet once in Vizima. What an interesting man, he may be a D’hoine but he’s lived a more interesting life than half of the Scoia’tell I’ll tell you that. What has you so interested in Temeria?”

Alfie fumbled for words.

“Well, I know we’re from Temeria, and I see your medal from the First War hung above the hearth. I was hoping I could find something about you in this,”

Marcel let out a hearty laugh, one that gained the attention of Hilda for a second before she returned to her cooking. Alfie flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m afraid you won’t read anything about me in there. My memoirs are published somewhere else, but they’re banned in Nilfgaard and Dol Blathanna. You’ve Seventeen winters behind you...Hilda would fan my hide for this, but would you like to hear about my time in the war?”

Alfie nodded eagerly. With that queue, Marcel lifted his shirt, showing a wicked scar that stretched from bellybutton to left armpit. He lowered his shirt.

“I got that during a nasty interrogation session, but we aren’t there yet...My tale begins on May 3rd, 1263, in the city of Mayena. When you’re older I can take you there, eh? I didn’t know it yet, but on that day, in that city, my life would be forever changed. That was the day Nilfgaard crossed the Amell Mountains, and Nilfgaard declared war on Cintra…”

* * *

  
  


“Extra! Extra! Nilfgaard crosses into Cintra! Forces rally on the Mardanal Stairs! Temeria is at War!”

I was collecting the Garrison’s weekly allowance from Vizima on a spring day. The weather was impeccable. The sun shined the whole day, and there was a gentle breeze to accompany it. I stepped out of the building, jingling pouch of coin stuffed in my jacket. I used to be afraid I would get spit on, but when people realize you’re from the Garrison they tend to back off. Even then, you get the usual smartass. That happened to me on the walk home.

“Oi oi oi, hold it, pointy ears.”

Taking a shortcut through the D’hoine slums was my first mistake. My slipshod job of hiding my coin became the second. The street, flanked by tall buildings that blotted out the sun, became my battleground. 

“Looky here boys, this fucker works for the garrison. Don’t know why they let you in, but we’re gonna make you resign. Get ‘im.”

I sighed, they weren’t the first vigilantes that didn’t like an Elf in the Garrison. The headstrong one which seemed to be the ringleader, charged first. Unfortunately for him, I had been hoping to try out a new standard-issue baton for civil disobedience. It worked like a charm, not for him though! After the ringleader crumpled to the ground, the group fled. All but one remained...They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul. if that is the case, this man’s soul contained true hatred for elves. It wasn’t comparable to D’hoine spitting on me for spreading the Catriona Plague or whatnot. 

“When I was young, I served in the expeditionary force to Nazair. I fought every day so I could go home and sleep in my bed. When I came home I found my whole family in a ditch, and my home burnt to the ground. The squirrels raided Dillingen...killed my family. You are going to answer for that!”

I understood the man’s anger, there were times I wished oppression onto the human race similar to the likes of elves...sometimes.

“My Dad was killed by the squirrels too. Do you want to know why?”

The man was taken aback by this statement. He lowered his weapon, a pang of guilt must’ve washed over him. He gathered his thoughts and simply nodded. 

“He was medic in the Temerian Army during the incursion into the Mahakaman foothills. One night he was on a wagon carrying injured soldiers to Maribor fortress. The squirrels struck, they did what they do best. A wagon full of amputees that were meant to go home to their families met their end on a cold backroad to an elven sword. Only my father and the driver survived the encounter. They were taken prisoner…”

I had to take a deep breath to recount the next part. It hurts no matter how many times I say it.

“My father was burnt alive to make an example for any race traitors that enter their custody. They cut the skin off of the driver’s foot and made him walk to Maribor on his own. He committed suicide a year later. Now, please lower your weapon and let me through.”

The man complied, what he did next shocked me. As I passed by, he shook my hand. He only said two sentences, but they held the same value as a thousand-word speech.

“I’m sorry about your father. If anyone crosses your path around here, tell them that Chet will personally gut them if they try to lay so much as a finger on you. Safe travels.”

With that heartfelt exit, I left the backstreets. The walk to the Garrison was calm, the drums of war haven’t beat here yet. I entered the familiar barrack doors, the ones that welcomed me no matter how sodding the day treated me. I always had a warm meal with my comrades. It was the highlight of my day. For a group of Temerian D’hoine, they were extremely tolerant of me. Hell, they’d be for me on the field of war. 

Winston welcomed me at the door, he was on the smaller end of the D’hoine, but my brother-in-arms all the same. He smiled at me.

“Run into any trouble on the walk home? You’re a bit late.”

“None at all, I just had a wee chat with a backstreet bloke.”

I withdrew the pouch and tossed it to Winston. He smirked and ushered me to the mess hall. What awaited me in the mess hall never failed to make me smile. A cozy room with memorabilia on all sides of the wall, the north side of the room was the Kitchen Counter. A fireplace always burnt on the south side of the room. 

Half of the garrison was eating in the room, most of them gave me a wave or patted the seat next to them. A few scowled at the sight of me. All the same, I asked the same question. One that pierced the stewy aroma that encompassed every inch of the room.

“On my walk home, a street urchin hollered that Nilfgaard invaded Cintra today...We’re at war.”


	2. A Trip to the Tailor's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcel is given a mysterious order...all he can do is comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I love writing this and I don't think I've felt this way for the longest time when I wrote things.

The room ground to a halt. Pans stopped clattering, spoons refrained from clinking. Silence reigned dominant...until one wisecrack opened his mouth.

“You suck at making jokes, tree fucker.”

One of the xenophobic soldiers, Solomons, muttered. 

“It’s not a joke, Commander Mcintyre has already gotten a message from Vizima to prepare the city for wartime. I’d wager the weekly allowance on it.”

I clinked the pouch, and Solomons spit out his stew to be out a hearty laugh.

“A Grey Rider? A one way trip from one of them costs our weekly allowance! Foltest would never!”

The comical arrival of Commander Mcintyre only made me wish I made that wager.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your skepticism of Marcel.”

Solomons nodded whilst slurping the rest of his stew. He slammed the bowl down on the table.

“He’s full of lard! C’mon back me up here.”

Mcintyre frowned, feeling pity towards Solomons.

“Marcel’s right, this is from Vizima, now shut the hell up and listen, you smart-alec.”

He held up a sealed letter, marked with a royal wax stamp. With a loud crack, he broke the seal. The room looked on with bated breath. 

“Hem-hem. To the garrison of the city of Mayena, your orders are to mobilize the reserves of Mayena and assume active duty. As of today, the Nilfgaardian Empire has invaded Cintra. Temeria is joining the rest of the North in an act of war to halt Nilfgaard. Mayena is trusted to do its part, your orders will play a crucial role in preparing Southern Temeria for a state of wartime readiness. All inmates of Mayena Central Prison are to be offered amnesty in return for Pee-Eff-Eye enlistment. You are also to launch internal investigations into possible dissidents in the city. Lethal Force is NOT authorized. Lastly, all nonhuman members of the garrison are to report to the Castillo Tailor, we are not authorized to discuss this further.

Godspeed,

Constable John Natalis. Vizima.”

The soldiers knew what was coming next. It happened whenever Commander Mcintyre got a message from his higher-ups. The man was lenient during times of peace, but he didn’t joke when it came to war. Jasper Mcintyre grew up in the swamps of Angren, he knew war every daily. So the man did all in his power to whip us into shape if before it reached Mayena’s gates. That was when the yelling began.

“YOU HEARD OLD NATALIS! HEADS OUT OF YOUR CHOW! FALSTAFF, TAKE YOUR SQUADRON TO THE PRISON. KOLKIN, START ORGANIZING PATROLS IN THE NEIGHBORHOODS. HALF OF YOU, START PATROLLING THE WALL. THE OTHER HALF, TAKE THE WEAPONS OUT OF MOTHBALL AND CLEAN EM. THEY BETTER BE SHINIER THAN A WHORE’S GREASY TITS OR I’M STRINGING YOU FROM YOUR FEET ON THE CITY WALLS. MARCEL, GO TO THE DAMN TAILORS!”

The base erupted into a flurry, the squadrons quickly vacated the building. Avoiding the brunt of Mcintyre's wrath. The halls of the garrison, once filled with lazing soldiers sunbathing on the walls was no more. It was replaced with a city preparing for war. One that was raging a week's walk south...one that could easily reach the city walls.

I could hear Jasper’s yelling at the end of the street. I was treated to the following yelling during my walk down the street.

“MY PEASANT GRANDMOTHER AND HER MILITIA CAN DEFEND THEIR FUCKING SWAMPS BETTER THAN YOU MILKSOPS WOULD DEFEND THIS GOD DAMNED CITY. MELITTLE TAKE ME IF I HAVE YOU CHICKEN SHITS BETWEEN US AND-”

His voice faded as I turned the corner. My destination, Castillo Tailors. I hadn’t the faintest clue why. I doubt the Commander knew either. Nevertheless, I walked under the sultry sun.

* * *

The Tailor, located in the upper crust of Mayena, was flanked by lavish apartments occupied by nobles and diplomats. Across the street of Castillo Tailors were the Knights Barracks. A cut above the garrison. They did no work and got double the reward, but that’s the way it is in the world, Alfie. Anyone who tells you otherwise is one of the blokes getting that double reward. 

Nevertheless, I stepped into the Tailors, the room smelt of fine whiskey and luxuriant gentlemen. Diplomat, the Clergy, Officers, all of them were getting fitted for clothes. Their assistants chatted away in leather chairs. The latest gossip was supposedly one of the knights having an affair with Aryan La Valette. The idle chit chat, consumption of alcohol, it all stopped once they saw me step in. One of the Tailors that was fitting a Redanian diplomat stepped forward to speak.

“Sorry sir, we don’t cater to nonhumans. If you would like to have your...clothes…” He eyed me up and down, “Tailored. You must schedule an appointment. How about that?”

The scowls on the faces of these ‘gentlemen’ were getting more severe, I crossed a line that only D’hoine were allowed to. I spoke up regardless, keeping my composure calm.

“I was sent here on direct orders of Constable John Natalis of Vizima, those orders being that all nonhuman members of the Mayena garrison report to Castillo Tailors. Seeing as I am the only nonhuman, I formally request-”

A man stepped out from the curtain obscuring the back half of the store. He spoke in elder tongue.

“Marcel Boskabel, please come with me.”

He wore an eyepatch covering his left eye, and he ushered me to the interior of the store. 

“Ignore them, come along now.” 

Upon further inspection, I noticed he was heavily scarred. From what I saw, they were running neck down to his torso. It must’ve been a wicked interrogation that he endured. I was now where the facade melted into messy materials and half-finished suits. It was only now that the man spoke in common tongue.

“I’m glad you noticed the beauty marks. I got them during a run-in with the bastard who took my good eye. That one-eyed bastard was probably jealous of my shimmering green peepers...An eye for an eye, hm?”

A spiral staircase became the next leg of our journey. The man was not ready to inform me of why I was here, but he did enlighten me in another regard.

  
“Losing this eye was the best thing that ever happened to me. I gained one in the back of my head, the eggheads at Oxenfurt say losing one sense improves the others, this made my hearing exemplary. I can hear the wind whistling on a tripwire, and the leaves rustling over a spike pit. There’s a silver lining to everything.”

All I could do was keep walking behind the man until we reached the top of the stairwell. The next floor consisted of a small corridor. The mysterious man rushed me to the end of the hallway, to his office. 

“Have a seat, Marcel. Don’t worry, we can use real names here. I’m Pierre Brembettor, Temerian Secret Service.”

Those three words shocked me, no one in the garrison knew the Secret Service were here. Not even Commander Mcintyre, and that man could tell me the britches that Foltest wore the day before.

“I’m sorry...did you say the Secret Service? I never knew you were here…”

Pierre smirked, having a gaff at my naivety 

“Of course you didn’t, it’s in the name! Anywho, let us get to it, shall we? Fancy  a cup of Gheso Gold? My Nilfgaardian agent likes to leave a box of it at every dead drop. It’s better than the tea you’ll get in Aedirn, I’ll tell you that much!”

I nodded, and the man grabbed a kettle that had been boiling above the fireplace. Pierre poured a spoonful of hot water over a sock of the tea. As soon as Pierre finished pouring, he slid it to me. While I sipped the tea, Pierre pulled a file from under his desk, he read from it.

“So...what have we here? Marcel Boskabel, 21 years old, orphaned at a young age. Father killed by Scoia’tell during the First Incursion of the Mahakaman Foothills, mother killed during a pogrom in Aldersberg. Hitchhiked on the highroad to Mayena, where he’s spent the last 8 years serving in the garrison. He is currently tasked with collecting the garrison allowance. Did I get all of that?”

I nodded, awestruck at the information this stranger gathered on me. The Secret Service had their shit together, and I was construing their reason for summoning me. There’s an outbreak of a war...the man who brings me to his office lost an eye to the Squirrels. I verbalized my thoughts.

“You want me to become an-” 

Pierre cut me off again. He casually flicked his eyepatch up and down, showing the hollow socket. He refrained from doing so after he noticed my disdain.

“Well, lets put it this way. You are somewhat of an exception, you don’t pick up your sword and shield to fight and die like the headstrong elves nowadays. No...you’re cut from a different cloth, and I didn’t say that. Chet did, remember him? That whole incident in the backroads was a test, I must say. You passed.”

“Th-that whole incident? It was a test?”

“Yes, to test how you deal with and diffuse a situation. Sure you roughed up one of our men, but everyone knows the risks when they sign up.”

“I’m gonna spy on the Scoia’tell, aren’t I?”

Stop laughing Alfie. The response he gave me next made my elder blood run cold. 

“No, you’re going to become one of them.”


	3. Training Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been so long, but I really hope you enjoy this. I'm excited to get back to this. This chapter is kinda short because I'm relearning how to write nicely so apologies for that. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this :D

“Seems about right...I don’t have much of a choice in this, do I?”

Pierre shook his head, “You can step out the door if you’d like. You can get the city ready for defense, do patrols all the livelong day. Lynch a few people for treachery. Then one day you can get sent out for patrol in the woods and get a knife to the ribs before you even know what hit you. That was what happened to me…”

His voice trailed off, Pierre was clearly still shaken up about this. 

“Nevertheless I escaped, one eye short, but at the least, I wasn’t eating dirt. It was during my recovery in La Valette castle when I was approached by a cloaked figure in the halls. That man would go on to recruit me to the Temerian Secret Service...The point is, Marcel, do you wanna be the one that gets recruited after losing their squadmates and their eye? Or do you wanna be the one that prevents these tragedies before they even happen?”

“The latter.” I responded, coldly might I add.

Pierre smirked

“That’s what I like to hear. Your training will only last a week. In the meantime, you will be a garrison member during the day and come to our training at night. Commander McIntyre has already been informed. Next week, you will slip out of your bunks and ‘commandeer’ a wagon to a highway that the Squirrels were last seen. You’re dismissed.”

I started for the exit, but Pierre stopped me.

“Use the back exit, you’re going to have to get used to finding more than one exit. Are you gonna be finishing your tea?”

I shook my head in response, and he acknowledged. Greedily picking up the cup and scarfing down Nilfgaard’s finest leaves.

* * *

  
  


The first night of training, they busted down everything I thought I knew about warfare. It is not men that win wars, but information. The entire night I spent on my feet. I practiced giving the slip in all shapes and forms. After I mastered urban agility, it was forest warfare. The Squirrels spent their off time deep in the forests. Truly in touch with nature, but so were we. Pierre and his most trusted associate brought me into the thick of the Mayena woods.

It was naive of me to think they would train me. Instead, they relieved themselves of my presence and gave me simple instructions to find my way back before roll call. Much to their chagrin, I made my way back to the city gates and slipped aptly into their office. 

The second night, they made me deliver a dead drop. The third night, they taught me a d’hoine form of hand to hand combat. Pierre said he learned it from an immigrant who hailed from the far east. As Pierre so eloquently put it, ‘past Zerrikania but a bit before you hit ofier’. On the fourth and fifth, I memorized the stars, so I could find my way back without a map. On the sixth, they let me rest before the big operation. 

I spent my final day finding joy in the mundane tasks. Winston and I spent the day patrolling the walls and dusting cobwebs off of the weapons in storage. A rather boring day, but I knew I would miss this when I was in the field. 

That night, I couldn’t get a wink of sleep, all I could think about was that life I left behind. My mom, who was buried in this city. My dad, who lies somewhere in the Mahakaman foothills. I don’t know if there is a deity in the sky, but I prayed to all of them. Melittle, Lebiodah, Freya. I asked all of them to keep me safe on my journey. So that I may see my comrades again. 

I prayed until the moonbeams shone through the Garrison barracks, I grabbed my bag and slipped to the Cianfanelli Bank by the western outskirts. I sensed Pierre, even though he did not wish to be seen, I hopped into the unattended wagon. Then glanced at Mister Brembetter through the Apartment window he did not wish to be spotted in. Instead of panicking, he simply smirked and nodded. 

I gave the horse a firm ‘HYAH, and with that, the next chapter of my life began. 


End file.
